


Twelve Angry Books

by Siderea



Series: Green Grow the Rushes [1]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alternate Universe - 500 Kingdoms Fusion, Alternate Universe - Abhorsen Fusion, Alternate Universe - Daughters of the Moon Fusion, Alternate Universe - Discworld Fusion, Alternate Universe - Dragonriders of Pern Fusion - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Emelan Fusion, Alternate Universe - Ephemera Fusion, Alternate Universe - Mercy Thompson Fusion, Alternate Universe - Patricia Briggs's werewolves, Alternate Universe - Six of Crows Fusion, Alternate Universe - The Chronicles of Amber Fusion, Alternate Universe - The Lunar Chronicles Fusion, Alternate Universe - The Raven Chronicles Fusion, Dukat's confused feelings for Benjamin Sisko, F/M, Gen, Implied Relationships, M/M, Rating May Change, Tags will be updated
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-08
Updated: 2016-03-04
Packaged: 2018-05-19 00:52:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 12,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5950003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siderea/pseuds/Siderea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Alternative Title: Twelve Books of Terok Nor)</p><p>Twelve book AUs featuring the characters of Deep Space Nine.  No knowledge of the books is necessary, but knowledge of the relationships between DS9 characters will help.  Each chapter will have its own summary.  Tags will be updated with each chapter.</p><p>Seventh: The 500 Kingdoms<br/>Eighth: Discworld (Tiffany Aching/The Witches)<br/>Ninth: The Daughters of the Moon<br/>Tenth: Six of Crows<br/>Eleventh: Mercy Thompson/Alpha and Omega<br/>Twelfth: The Lunar Chronicles</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Raven Chronicles: The Magician and the Psychic

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first of what will be twelve works, each with a different theme, all of which will feature AUs of Deep Space Nine, although the boundaries of AU may be stretched beyond some people's definitions. The idea originated, insofar as I know, in the Teen Wolf fandom, although I have changed a lot of it, as well as going beyond the nine or ten steps that were floating around three or more years ago.
> 
> This particular work will eventually include twelve book AUs. Title is from Twelve Angry Men; alternative title is from the Twelve Tribes of Israel.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last week, Benjamin Sisko was a high school student trying to help his friend search for a mystical sleeping king. Five days ago, to save his friends, he sacrificed himself to a mystical sentient forest. Today, in order to understand said forest, he is talking to a mystical frustrating psychic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A fusion with Maggie Stiefvater's The Raven Chronicles.

The women of 300 Fox Way still made Benjamin Sisko nervous, but. There was no one else he could go to for help. He squared his shoulders and raised his hand to knock on the blue door –

 

It swung open, and Jadzia Dax grinned at him. “You’re late, Ben,” she said.

 

He bit back the first three responses. “My apologies.”

 

“I forgive you,” Jadzia assured him breezily, ushering him into the house. “Nerys might not, but I do. Tea? Nerys made it earlier.”

 

“No, thank you.” He wasn’t convinced that Kira wasn’t attempting to kill him. Poisoning the tea so that only he died from it would be difficult, but not impossible. Especially not in a house of psychics. They passed the kitchen, turned towards the family room and the stairs. “Actually, Jadzia, I’m here –”

 

“For our help,” Jadzia finished for him. “Well, I’m not sure how compatible our magic is with yours, but I can probably at least give you a place to start. Maybe.” She looked over her shoulder and grinned at him again. “I mean, I’m not part-tree or whatever you are now that you’re the living vessel for a magical forest, but my ESP senses indicate I might be able to teach you something.”

 

She led him up the stairs, into what had to be her bedroom. Jadzia plopped on the floor, gestured for him to sit down across from her. Ben sat, hesitantly. Jadzia seemed nice – nicer than Kira, certainly – but. Well. This whole quest had been Odo’s idea from the beginning, Odo’s obsession, from before Ben had ever even met the other boy. Odo was the one comfortable with magic.

 

Odo and Bashir.

 

And hadn’t _that_ been a nice little surprise, learning that _Julian Bashir_ could pull anything he wanted out of his dreams, from a flower to a piece of paper to an actual living raven. Sometimes, Ben wondered how he hadn’t noticed before Bashir told them, wondered how _no one knew_ that Bashir could pull things out of dreams. They were becoming friends, because of Odo, because of the quest, but that didn’t mean Ben had suddenly forgotten precisely how awkward and uncoordinated and _different_ Bashir was from everyone else. He supposed being able to pull things out of dreams would make someone different.

 

“Shuffle these,” Jadzia ordered, bringing him back to the present.

 

Ben glanced from her face to the deck of tarot cards she was trying to shove into his hands. “I don’t want to mess up your connection with your deck.” And he really didn’t want to touch the cards himself.

 

“These aren’t my cards,” Jadzia assured him. “Well, they are, but they’re my spare deck. I’m giving them to you. Now shuffle, and let’s see what Cabeswater has to say to you. Or through you.”

 

There was clearly no point in arguing. Ben took the cards and shuffled them. “Now what?”

 

“Lay three of them out face up,” Jadzia said. “I like going left to right, but most people go the other way. Lwaxana prefers to top to bottom, though, if that feels right to you.”

 

Ben considered the deck of cards. Carefully, trying not to feel pressured by the intensity of Jadzia’s gaze, he put the top card face up down. The next card, he placed to the left and the third one he placed to the right of the first one.

 

“Huh,” Jadzia said.

 

“Huh, what?” Ben asked.

 

She raised her eyebrows at him and then looked pointedly down at the cards. “‘Huh’ that.”

 

Ben glanced back down. The center card was The Emperor. To its left was The Fool. To the right was The Magician.

 

“Draw two more cards,” Jadzia ordered, something strained in her voice.

 

“Where should I put them?” Ben asked.

 

“You know where,” Jadzia said.

 

Ben considered protesting, but he didn’t think it would do any good. Not with Jadzia. He drew two more cards and placed one above The Emperor and the other below it. The Hanged Man and the Page of Cups.

 

“What does it mean?” Ben asked, frustrated. He felt like he was further from any sort of an answer than he had been before he came to 300 Fox Way, and yet. And yet there was something about the cards, especially the Page of Cups, that made him think he was on the verge of understanding.

 

Jadzia looked up from the cards and stared directly into his eyes. He hadn’t noticed before, but her eyes were a strange shade of purple-gray. Intense and unnerving. “It means Cabeswater recognizes the five of you. And it knows what you’re looking for.”

 

 _Glendower._ The name hung between them.

 

“Well. The cards are yours now, Benjamin, but you’ll need to come here for lessons when you’re free,” Jadzia said.

 

“I have school and work,” Ben said. It didn’t hurt to admit that, not to Jadzia, not the way it hurt to talk about it with Odo or Bashir or Miles or anyone else at Aglionby Academy.

 

“You don’t have work every day,” Jadzia said, a smile tugging at her lips. “Besides, don’t you want to know what your forest is saying to you?”

 

Ben looked at her, looked down at the cards. He knew who two of them were, could guess on the others. He sighed. “Yeah, all right. Tomorrow at seven?”

 

Jadzia grinned. “See you then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who are wondering, yes, Kira is meant to be semi-analogous to Blue. I strongly suspect the Chief is equivalent to Noah.


	2. The Circle Reforged: Children and Choices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stitch-witch Kira Nerys just wants a quiet day at home. Too bad her foster children aren't cooperating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An Emelan AU (Circle of Four, Circle Opens, and Circle Reforged series), by the wonderful Tamora Pierce.
> 
> Some basic information about the world for those who want it: ambient mages (like Kira, Jadzia, and the others in this) draw on the power in objects to do their magic. For Kira and Jadzia, it's the magic in threads, weaving, knitting, etc. For Julian (and Keiko), it's the magic in plants. And so on and so forth. Jadzia, Julian, and their two other foster siblings share a mental bond that allows them to share thoughts and some powers thanks to Jadzia weaving the four of them together when they were young so they could survive an earthquake. Kira and Keiko took care of the four of them and taught them how to use their magic (although they specifically mentored Jadzia and Julian respectively, due to shared magic).

The door to Discipline Cottage slammed shut hard enough to shake the rafters. Kira Nerys looked towards the ceiling and prayed for patience. An explanation, she knew, would be coming shortly, but the serenity to survive that explanation had been out of practice since her former charges moved out of Discipline.

 

As she always did in times of stress, Nerys walked over to her loom and took up her weaving. Her current project, a wall-hanging for Odo, had been started recently enough that there was still much to go. She could work on that while she waited for one of her children – and they were still their children, never mind that they were all seventeen and fully come into their power – to come storming in to rant at her, and it would give her something to focus on while –

 

Her hands bobbled as the door slammed shut again, this time quieter, gentler. Mila and Green Man be merciful, were _two_ of the four looking for a sympathetic ear? Well, they were still young enough for her to throw them both out if they tried talking over each other. She undid the ruined stitch and picked the pattern back up and waited.

 

She didn’t have to wait too long.

 

“Nerys! Can I talk to you?”

 

Nerys looked up at the dark-haired young woman standing in the doorway. Not just any of her charges, but the young woman who had been her personal apprentice, one of the few people who shared her ambient thread magic. Jadzia looked as put together, as unflustered as she usually did, save for one small thing: the way her fingers kept playing with the end of her braid. Nerys nodded. “All four of you should know that you can always come talk to me.”

 

Not that Nerys intended to make it easy on any of them.

 

The steady clacking of her loom was the only sound for a few moments while Jadzia gathered her thoughts or her words – or her nerves. Not that Jadzia had ever had trouble with _those_. Nerys snorted, remembering the girl who had woven together four different people, four different _magics_ , in order to ensure she and her newfound friends survived the earthquake that should have killed them. To say nothing of her exploits in Namorn.

 

“Nerys, am I too bossy?” Jadzia asked.

 

Nerys snorted again. “That’s one word for it, I suppose. Opinionated, certainly, and not afraid to share those opinions with other people, regardless of whether they want to hear them or not. And you like arguing, so you argue for your view or interpretation, which could come across as bossy.”

 

“Oh.” Jadzia fell silent for a few moments, clearly thinking it over. Nerys considered offering the young woman something to work on, but Jadzia was a grown woman and an accredited mage in her own right. She was old enough to take care of herself.

 

“Do you think I’m too nosey and gossipy?” Jadzia asked.

 

“Let me guess,” Nerys said with a wry smile. “Julian?” Julian and Jadzia were close friends – well, all four of them were close in different ways. But Julian and Jadzia’s relationship had often felt like it had more ups and downs than any of the others’, and often with a lot more vim and vigor.

 

“He’s making the worst possible decision!” Jadzia announced, pacing, hands gesticulating wildly. “I just tried to tell him that this thing with that man is a mistake. Not because it’s a he, even though Julian’s only ever been interested in females before, but because this man is… He’s not right. There’s something about him that’s wrong. Julian really shouldn’t be walking with this man, or doing anything with him!”

 

“Do you think that’s for you to decide?” Nerys asked calmly. Her head, meanwhile, was spinning. _Julian, with a man? This one might actually be serious. Or at least last longer than a few weeks._

 

“What?” Jadzia blinked rapidly. “What do you mean? Nerys?”

 

“I mean,” Nerys said slowly, picking her words with care, “that this is Julian’s choice. His mistake to make or his happiness to find. You care about him, and that’s good, but you don’t have the right to make this choice for him. What you do have the right to do is care about him and be there for him if he needs consoling – or share his happiness if he finds it with this man.”

 

Jadzia frowned. “Didn’t you hear me? This man is bad news. Very bad news.”

 

“I heard. But since you haven’t given me any reasons why he’s bad news, I’m ignoring your opinion,” Nerys replied easily. “Tell me why you think he’s bad news.”

 

Silence. “I think he’s an agent from Namorn,” Jadzia said at last. “And considering what happened the last time all four of us went there, and the way we left it… It just can’t be good, is what I’m saying, if Julian’s man is from Namorn.”

 

“I think you should assume Julian is an adult and capable of thinking of that possibility for himself. Or, barring that, that he will seriously consider your concern in that respect,” Nerys said. “Really, that’s all you can do, Jadzia.”

 

Jadzia scowled. “Fine. But if his man _is_ a Namornese agent, I reserve the right to deal with him,” she said with a harrumph.

 

“And say ‘I told you so’?” Nerys guessed.

 

“Well. Yes. But that’s my right as Julian’s sister,” Jadzia said, a bit snippily.

 

“Mm-hmm. I suppose Julian’s out in the garden talking to Keiko about this fight.”

 

“Maybe,” Jadzia said, drawing the word out. “I mean, he got here before me, but he’s not talking to you. So yes, he’s probably out with Keiko.”

 

“Mm-hmm.” Which meant Keiko would be either amused or frustrated at dinner. Just what Nerys wanted to deal with tonight. Speaking of. “Are you staying for dinner?”

 

“No, I’m heading back to the house. Julian is, too.”

 

“If you say so.” They must have made up, then, if they were talking via their link again. “I’ll see you in a few days at Market Day.” Unless, Mila and Green Man forfend, something else came up before then. And she had thought the kids moving out meant life would be quiet again. _Silly me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sir Not Appearing in This Snippet: Ziyal as a weather witch and Nog as a blacksmith (Tris and Daja respectively, for those who know the books).
> 
> Julian's boyfriend is meant to be Garak.


	3. Abhorsen: Across the Wall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elim Garak disapproves of the cult within the Perimeter Guard that echoes the religion on the other side of the Wall. Maybe he'll get a chance to explain that to the Abhorsen during the religious leader's visit to Wyverly College.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fusion with Garth Nix's The Abhorsen Trilogy.

Elim Garak stood at the Wall, eyes on the Crossing Point and the cluster of people surrounding it, and tried not to show how much he truly didn’t want to be here. Movement at the corner of his eye caught his attention. “Is all of this truly necessary?” he asked General Kira Nerys.

 

“You have a problem with welcoming a delegation from the Old Kingdom?” the woman in command of the Perimeter Garrison asked.

 

Somehow, Elim managed not to let his eyes flicker up to the mark on her forehead, the mark that indicated she bought into the superstitious religion of the Old Kingdom. “I simply wondered why they wished to come here now,” he lied smoothly. “It is, after all, three hundred years to the day since the attempted murder of a king and queen of the Old Kingdom while they visited Ancelstierre.” He didn’t need to remind the major that that had been the last time a delegation from the Old Kingdom had set foot in Ancelstierre. Although it hadn’t stopped people from the crossing the Wall, as both of them well knew.

 

“Wyverly College asked the Abhorsen to come and speak on the anniversary, to remind the students of what Wyverly College in particular and Ancelstierre in general have lost to the Dead – and what the Abhorsens have given, both for the Old Kingdom and for Ancelstierre,” Kira said, frowning at him in clear disapproval. “You might be the _legal attaché_ for this part of Ancelstierre, but you – and the government – clearly still have a lot to learn about the Old Kingdom.”

 

Legal attaché. It wasn’t the most patently ridiculous cover Department Thirteen had assigned him, and it actually came with certain useful privileges, but it was clear that Kira, at least, hadn’t been fooled. No matter, since he wasn’t actually trying to fool her. But he did hope that she wouldn’t introduce him to the Old Kingdom delegation as the local spy.

 

Movement at the Crossing Point picked up again, and then Sergeant-Major O’Brien, one of Northern Perimeter Reconnaissance Unit and another with the cult marking on his forehead, approached with an unfamiliar man in strange clothing.

 

Elim took the time to examine the man who had to be the Abhorsen, some kind of highly respected figure in the cult religion of the Old Kingdom. He had dark curly hair and bronzed skin, and what looked, at this distance, to be dark eyes. The grin that danced across his face as he spoke with O’Brien seemed to be typical of his personality based on the slight lines on his face. Most of all, though, what Elim noticed was that the man was young.

 

The Abhorsen wore a strange surcoat, a dark blue embroidered with silver keys, with wide sleeves down to his elbows. It looked like he wore it over some sort of chainmail coat, only instead of being made of silver rings it looked like it was comprised of tiny silver scales, like a fish. The not-chainmail fell to his knees, like a hauberk, and revealed the brown leather pants he wore beneath the whole ensemble. Those had segmented metal plates at his knees and shins, and possibly up his thighs, as well, although the surcoat and chainmail blocked his view of that.

 

Across his back was a large pack, presumably holding his things. At the Abhorsen’s hip was a sword and across his chest was a bandolier with seven different-sized tubular pouches. Each one, according to what Elim had learned about the man called the Abhorsen, contained a bell.

 

_This man is the Abhorsen? He’s not old enough to be more than a year or two out of college._ That didn’t always mean anything. But the youth and the naiveté he saw in the man’s face made Elim wonder how this particular man had become one of the more important figures in the Old Kingdom’s religion.

 

O’Brien and the Abhorsen came to a halt in front of Elim and Kira, grins still creasing both men’s faces as O’Brien saluted his superior. Somehow, he managed to make it clear that the gesture most certainly did _not_ include Elim. Elim tried not to smile. The dislike the NPRU held for Department Thirteen always amused him, but O’Brien took it to a whole other level.

 

“The Abhorsen, Ma’am,” O’Brien announced. At Kira’s nod, he turned, clapped the Abhorsen on the shoulder. “I’ll see you on your way back across the Wall, Julian.”

 

“I should be able to spare a day or two here at the barracks after I finish up at Wyverly,” the Abhorsen – Julian – said. “My love to Keiko and the kids, and I’ll see them in two days. Oh, and you, of course, Miles.”

 

“Very funny, Julian,” O’Brien said, smiling faintly, and shook his head.

 

With O’Brien gone, the Abhorsen turned his attention to Elim and the general. “Friend of yours, Nerys?”

 

“No, thankfully,” Kira said. She reached out, embraced the Abhorsen, who returned her hug with a tight grip. “I’m so sorry, Julian,” she murmured, quietly enough that Elim didn’t think he was supposed to hear. The question, of course, was why, exactly, she felt the need to apologize.

 

The Abhorsen shook his head and leaned back, breaking the embrace. “Thank you, Nerys, but at least I’ve known it was coming. Even if some of my cousins are less than happy the title came to me.” He turned to examine Elim. As he did, their eyes met, and Elim felt a lightning bolt of _something_ shoot down his spine.

 

To cover his unease, he smiled gently at Julian. “Elim Garak, legal attaché for the area of Ancelsteirre nearest the Wall.”

 

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Garak,” Julian said with an answering smile. He shook his hand, and Elim took careful note of the callouses on the other man’s hands. Not quite right for someone who only used a sword. _The bells, of course._ “I’m Julian, the Abhorsen.”

 

Elim barely stopped his eyebrows from rising at the lack of a last name, but he’d been a part of Department Thirteen for too long to make that kind of mistake. “Of course. I’m here to escort you to Wyverly College, Abhorsen,” Elim made up on the spot. Originally, he had intended to examine the Abhorsen and then leave the man to whatever he was doing, but now, having met the man, he couldn’t deny that he had a strange, intense interest that had sprung up the instant he first laid eyes on Julian.

 

“Really?” Julian glanced over at Kira, who spared Elim a glance, lips pursed, eyebrows furrowed.

 

“Apparently,” she said, although she sounded angry. “Julian, can I have a moment before you head for Wyverly?”

 

“Of course, Nerys,” Julian said, allowing the general to start towing her away. “I’ll just be a moment, Mr. Garak, and then we can head for Wyverly.”

 

As Elim watched Kira drag Julian off, sure that she was about to give the Abhorsen a warning about him, he smiled, bright and cheerful. His day was looking up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I'm going to continue any of these, this is one that would be high up on that list.


	4. Chronicles of Amber: Prince of Amber

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The King of Amber is missing. For real, this time.
> 
> Time for a dynastic war.
> 
> Too bad Prince Julian wants nothing to do with one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Roger Zelazny's Chronicles of Amber will always hold a special place in my heart, since the first time I read them I disliked them but the second time around I liked them.
> 
> Not a lot happening in this one, though. Meh.

Julian spread the handful of cards out on his desk and considered the Trumps that represented his family, the images that could connect him with any one of them with a little bit of concentration. He was careful not to bring that weight of regard to bear as he looked over the painted images, not particularly interested in speaking with any of them right at that moment.

 

Their father was gone. Missing. Trapped or dead. Or exploring shadow. He’d done that before, after all, gone on long journeys without warning, just to see what his children would do. And never mind his claims about only wanting to walk the shadows, Julian knew better than that, and so did every one of his siblings with more than two brain cells to rub together.

 

_So everyone except Sloane._

 

But, no, that was underestimating Sloane’s animal cunning, and Julian knew he couldn’t afford to underestimate any of his siblings right now. Not when their father had been gone longer than ever before.

 

He shuffled through the cards, looking without looking, searching for allies. New ones, at least. Every alliance was potentially broken, at least until everyone had sized up the changed game board, and Julian had no intention of assuming someone would have his back only to find a knife stuck in it by a sibling seeking the newly vacated throne of Amber.

 

A thought. Perhaps he should hide in a shadow land? There were several that he was fond of, and he didn’t think any of his siblings knew where to find more than one, maybe two. On the other hand, several of them knew different shadow lands he frequented, so an alliance could have deadly consequences for him.

 

_Perhaps if I hide in a shadow and gather my strength? Start hiring mercenaries or make myself invaluable to some powerful king. Yes, it would be in a shadow kingdom, not Amber, but I could still leverage a position that could protect me. Or find enough power to take the throne myself._

 

Julian hadn’t considered himself especially ambitious, but he allowed himself a moment or two to think about himself on the throne of Amber. Then he shook his head dismissively. He didn’t want to be tied to Amber. He wanted freedom to come and go between shadows and Amber without having to watch his back.

 

 _Which means I’ll have to make an alliance with someone who wants the throne._ Not an appealing thought. _Sometimes I wish moving to the Courts of Chaos was an option, but I still like living._

 

Julian sighed and started gathering the Trumps. If he didn’t want to ally with Ben or Jadzia or Dukat or any of the others who he knew would make a play for the throne, then he had to walk into shadow, now, before anyone started looking for him. It would be difficult to avoid the others for long, but not unmanageable. He was, after all, a sorcerer, one of the best at magic among his many half-siblings.

 

 _Wards and things like that. And I think I’ll start on Earth._ A busy shadow, one many of his siblings had a fondness for, but it was that very busy-ness that might hide his own movements. And it was just a place to start.

 

Julian quickly put the Trumps away and turned to start packing. The sooner he got going, the more of a head start he would have. _And all I have to do is avoid Amber, Rebma, the Courts of Chaos, and all their denizens until this mess is sorted. Provided certain people don’t end up on the throne. Oh, I hope whoever wins is willing to accept neutrals back when it’s all over._


	5. Ephemera: The Exile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being sent between the Sentinel Stones is the worst kind of exile in Cardassia. No wonder Tain's chosen this form of punishment for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A fusion with the Ephemera series (Sebastian, Belladonna, and Bridge of Dreams) by Anne Bishop.

Elim Garak kept his eyes on the two Sentinel Stones that sat outside the city of Kardasi. He had seen them outside other villages, always set away from any roads, but near enough to be seen, so that no one would walk through them by accident. People disappeared when they walked between Sentinel Stones.

 

Until this morning, he had hoped for a different verdict, any other verdict, even death would have been preferable to walking between the Sentinel Stones.

 

Tain stepped up beside him, their shoulders almost near enough to brush. Elim wondered what his father saw when he looked at the Sentinel Stones. “Do you truly hate me so much?” he asked, unable to leave the question unasked when it was his last chance to ask it.

 

“Are you so sure you will be one of the ones who disappears?” Tain countered. “Not everyone who walks between the Sentinel Stones disappears.”

 

True enough, but they were the exception. And most of those who disappeared never returned.

 

“Don’t look so upset, Elim,” Tain chided. “You’re only walking through the stones.”

 

Banished. Exiled. Forced through the Sentinel Stones. They all meant the same thing, in the end.

 

Behind him, in Kardasi proper, he heard the clock tower’s bells chime out the appointed hour of his doom. “On you go, then,” Tain said. Elim hated the gloating pleasure he heard in his father’s voice. “Oh, and Elim? Travel lightly.”

 

Traveler’s Blessing. From Tain, in this moment, in this place, it was a mockery. And the only words of farewell Elim would get from the city that had been his home for his entire life. So he would take them and make of them a weapon. Travel lightly.

 

Elim walked towards the Sentinel Stones and held the words of Traveler’s Blessing in his heart and mind. Three steps. Two. One. Between the Stones –

 

The world had changed. Elim took a moment to close his eyes, to regret everything that he had lost with that one step through the Sentinel Stones, and then he opened his eyes and looked around to see the place to which he had been taken.

 

The sun hadn’t risen yet, leaving the world swathed in darkness. Behind him were two more Sentinel Stones. As for the land ahead of him… what little he could make out indicated that there was a town of some kind maybe about a mile away. Lots of bright lights, at least, so some sort of decent-sized settlement. At least his exile wouldn’t take place in the middle of nowhere.

 

With nothing to weigh him down, Elim started towards the town.   He hadn’t gone far when a path appeared in front of him. Since it seemed to lead to the town, he willingly left the field for the road. As he walked, he looked up, searching for stars that might tell him where he was – only to stumble when he realized that there were neither stars nor moon in the sky.

 

_Where in the world have I ended up?_ Not a question he could answer. He looked at the lights ahead of him. The answer would be there, but was it an answer he wanted to hear?

 

He got to the outermost lights – stables, hitching posts, and even wooden slats in which one could brace a bicycle. All of them were clearly in use, although no one seemed to be tending any of the transportation. Not that it mattered to him – he had nothing for anyone to steal. If he needed to get out of this town quickly, however, it was nice to know that he had some choices at hand.

 

The road changed from dirt to cobblestone, and the lights went from a neutral yellow-white to bright colors, some of them so outlandish Elim couldn’t help but wonder if the city was in the middle of a carnival. He looked around, took in the people wandering about. Few of them were dressed up, but many wore colorful clothing, and a lot of the women wore about as much clothing as your typical street-walker.

 

_What in the world have I found?_ No way to know without asking, but who should he ask? All of the people he saw seemed invested in who they were talking with, what they were doing, where they were going.

 

Noise from further ahead caught his attention, so Elim followed his ears to a brightly lit courtyard with lots of tables, many of them full, and surrounded by statues. He stopped to examine the one closest to him and blushed.

 

“Do you like the statues?”

 

Elim tore his gaze from the statue to regard the man leaning against the nearby wall. Darkly handsome and dressed mostly in black leather, he looked like a street-walker on the prowl. “They seem to fit the atmosphere,” Elim said carefully.

 

The man threw back his head and laughed. It was an effort to drag his eyes away from the column of the man’s throat, but he didn’t want him to know he’d been staring. After a few moments, his laughter under control, the man looked him straight in the eye, walked forward to stand right in front of Elim and, with a wolfish grin, said, “Welcome to the Den of Iniquity.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why are hints of Garak/Bashir sneaking into so many of these?
> 
> This is another one that is more likely than not to get a continuation.


	6. Dragonriders of Pern: Dragon's Artist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ziyal, daughter of Lord Holder Dukat, loves the dragons that protect Pern and, despite her father's disapproval, her greatest dream is to be chosen as a candidate to Impress one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A fusion with The Dragonriders of Pern series by Anne and Todd McCaffrey.
> 
> A few notes for those unfamiliar with Pern:  
> Search is the term used when dragonriders are seeking candidates to form a mind-bond with a newly-hatched dragon. Riders and dragons go out on Search when it is almost time for a clutch to hatch, and they prefer people between the ages of 10 and about 17 or so, so that dragon and rider will grow up together and (hopefully) have long lives together.
> 
> Lord Holders are basically equivalent to feudal kings, being in charge of large tracts of land that are overseen by other people. Holders will hold tracts of land that make up the Lord Holder's domain. They tithe to the dragonriders, who often do not have time to farm or craft because they fight Thread, a menace that falls from the sky for 50 years every 200 years and, if it reaches land, it eats anything organic. Fire kills it, hence dragons.

Tora Ziyal brushed stray hairs out of her face with one hand while the other flapped in front of her, a valiant if futile attempt to cool herself down. Cardassia Hold was always hot, but summer brought a sweltering humidity that frizzed her hair and sent rivulets of sweat running down her face and body even if all she did was walk across a courtyard.

 

As she headed for the stone shelter of her father’s keep, the watch dragon let out a loud bugle. Heart leaping into her throat, Ziyal froze, scanning the skies, searching for – there! Dragons! Two of them, one blue and one bronze, winging towards the very courtyard she stood in!

 

Excitement won out over her desire to escape the heat. Ziyal moved towards the wall, out of the way of the dragons and their riders. She watched with eager eyes as the two dragons landed on the ground and their riders slid down their sides to land on the ground. Both immediately started divesting themselves of the fur-lined jackets, gloves, and helmets they wore as proof against the cold of _between_ , dropping their gear on the ground by the dragons as quickly as they could before turning to their dragons to strip them of their harnesses.

 

Movement from the keep heralded several people including her father, much to Ziyal’s surprise. She loved him immensely, was so grateful that he loved her and had given her such a good life despite her illegitimate status, but she liked to think she wasn’t blind to his faults. Or his dislikes.

 

And then she took in the dark skin of the bronze’s rider and suddenly everything made sense. Too young to be Weyrleader B’n, this had to be his son, J’ke. But her father would be polite and greet him in person because, no matter how much he disliked tithing to the weyrs, he wanted Weyrleader B’n’s respect.

 

Ziyal was close enough to the dragons – and, by extension, their riders – to hear her father, arms thrown open, as he greeted the riders. “Wingleader J’ke, Bluerider, welcome to Cardassia Hold. How can we help Defiant Weyr today?”

 

“Lord Holder,” J’ke said with a polite nod. “Today, we ride on Search. Any of your youngsters who wish to present themselves for consideration should come here by sundown.”

 

It felt like her heart did a somersault. Search. Oh how she wanted to present herself for it. Her father would never forgive her, especially if she were to be chosen. But to ride a dragon! It had been a long-cherished dream of hers, to soar through the sky on dragon-back, knowing that the dragon she rode was her dearest friend in the world. Yes, she would have to fight Thread, that deadliest of enemies, but she wanted that, too, wanted to protect and defend her home as more than just a member of a ground crew, the clean-up for the handful of burrows that always managed to escape the dragons.

 

She was so caught up in her thoughts, her dream warring with her love of her father, that she barely registered her father leading the two riders into the keep. Ziyal waited a few more moments to be sure the riders and, especially, her father were truly gone before she approached the dragons.

 

Ziyal stepped up so she stood in view of the dragons and bobbed her head slightly, respectfully. “Good morning,” she said with a smile. “Would you like some water?” She knew from watching the rotations of the watch dragons that dragons didn’t need to eat all that much, and she didn’t think the riders would bring hungry dragons on Search. Water, on the other hand, would probably be most welcome, especially in the heat of Cardassia Hold.

 

The two dragons regarded for a few moments, and then, unmistakably, the bronze nodded.

 

Ziyal’s smile grew. “Give me a few minutes and I’ll have the trough over there filled,” she said, pointing to the nearest pump. “I can keep filling it if it’s not enough.”

 

She strode over and started pumping water, the dragons waddling along in her wake. The trough was big and deep, so it took a while to fill it, but both dragons waited patiently for her to finish before they lowered their heads to the water and drank deep. Ziyal hovered, but both of them seemed content after emptying the trough.

 

There was nothing else she could think of offering to do for them, but she didn’t want to just walk away. Perhaps she could sketch them? Her chores were done for the day, at least until evening when she would help with dinner, so it wasn’t as if she were shirking anything.

 

Mind made up, Ziyal quickly entered the keep and all but ran up the stairs to her room. Her current sketch pad sat on her desk, several sticks of granite beside it. She scooped both up and hurried back down the stairs, keeping a weather eye out for anyone who might try to intercept her and keep her from the dragons in the courtyard. Thankfully, she met no one and was soon back in the courtyard.

 

Ziyal found a shaded spot near enough to the dragons to see them, a place not readily visible from the keep’s door. She didn’t want a random passerby to see her and go tattling to her father. She sat down with her knees folded up so she could brace her sketchpad against them, picked up one of the sticks of granite she had grabbed, and bent to it with a will.

 

Hours passed while she worked, sketching the dragons, trying to capture their majesty and color with nothing but graphite and paper. Distantly she noticed the passing of time, keeping track of the movement of the sun so she wouldn’t be late, noticed the young people around her age who approached the dragons and their riders to see if they had whatever quality the dragons Searched for, but most of her attention remained focused on the dragons themselves, their movements and stillness, the way the sun hit them, every little thing she could try to capture on paper.

 

Ziyal sketched until a shadow fell over her. Startled, she looked up – and into Wingleader J’ke’s dark brown eyes. “Lady Ziyal, right?” he asked.

 

“That’s me, yes,” Ziyal said, startled to find herself the focus of his attention.

 

“Sioth said you’ve been sitting here for most of the day. Do you want some water?” He offered her a canteen.

 

Suddenly aware of her dry throat, her cramped hands, and her stiff muscles, Ziyal gratefully accepted the canteen. She swallowed down a few swallows before handing it back. “Thank you, Wingleader,” she said.

 

He accepted the canteen but stayed there, standing in front of her, and so Ziyal kept her eyes on his face instead of returning to her sketching. J’ke shifted his weight from side to side before he abruptly asked, “May I see some of the sketches you’ve made of Sioth and Peth?”

 

Ziyal smiled again. “Of course, Wingleader.” She flipped back to the start of the day’s work and handed the pad over. “That’s the first of them.”

 

“Thanks,” he said with an answering grin, before looking down at the pad.

 

Ziyal studied him as he flipped through her sketches. He seemed impressed, but Ziyal wished she could have gotten some more action shots. Most of what she’d been able to do today had been the dragons lying on the ground, sunning themselves, although a few showed them with their necks arched, heads angled, clearly looking at something or someone.

 

“These are really good,” J’ke said. “Would you mind giving me one? Or copying one and giving me the copy? I don’t have any pictures of Sioth and Peth, and having one in my room would be kinda nice.”

 

Well, if he wanted one, she had done plenty. Ziyal accepted her pad back and flipped through it again until she found one of the better ones, with the dragons looking at each other in what looked like amusement. Carefully, she ripped it out of the pad and offered it to J’ke. “For you, Wingleader.”

 

He took it, looked down, grinned. “Hey, this is the one I would’ve picked for myself! Thanks, Lady Ziyal!” A mischievous look entered his eyes. “How about meeting your models?”

 

“What? Oh. Well,” Ziyal hesitated, checked the sun’s position in the sky. She had enough time to meet the dragons and then put her sketchpad and graphite away before she had to be in the kitchen, but only just. “I would love to meet Sioth and Peth,” she said truthfully.

 

“Come on, then,” J’ke said, offering her a hand. Ziyal let him help her to her feet. She winced as her muscles protested, but she was the one who had chosen to sit there and draw all afternoon. He kept hold of her hand, tucking it into his elbow, as he led her over to the dragons, acting for all the world like any Lord Holder’s son escorting a lady around a dance or festival.

 

Ziyal couldn’t say she was surprised at J’ke’s manners, but she did wonder why he was being so courteous to the daughter of a man who hated dragonriders. Her father even hated Weyrleader B’n, despite his intense desire for the man’s respect. He was a complicated man, her father, but she still loved him, flaws and all.

 

J’ke brought her to a halt in front of the dragons and the bluerider, and all three of them looked over. The bluerider grinned at her. “Here’s your admiring fan, you great lug,” he said, whacking his dragon’s closest leg. “Try not to scare her off with your bad breath.”

 

The dragon must have responded because he threw back his head and laughed. J’ke also chuckled, so Sioth must have relayed whatever Peth had said. At least, Ziyal thought that was how dragons’ communication worked.

 

“Sioth,” J’ke said to his bronze. He paused, then turned to the blue. “Peth. Meet Lady Ziyal, one of Lord Dukat’s daughters. Lady Ziyal, this is Sioth, my partner, and Peth, who flies in our wing. His rider is N’g, my best friend,” J’ke nodded to the other young rider.

 

Ziyal smiled and nodded to both of the dragons before shaking N’g’s offered hand. “Nice to meet you, Lady Ziyal. I hope these two reprobates’ posing didn’t make your hand fall off.”

 

“Oh, no. In fact, I rather wish I had time to draw them some more, but I have to get to the kitchen soon to help with dinner,” Ziyal said. “It’s a shame, because I would love to draw them in the sunset.”

 

N’g and J’ke exchanged a look, and then J’ke turned to fully face her. “Well, Lady Ziyal, that’s one of the reasons I wanted you to come officially meet Peth. And Sioth, of course, but Peth’s got a good eye for Search, like most of the blue dragons.” Ziyal’s confusion must have shown on her face, because J’ke said, “Lady Ziyal, Peth says you’re a good candidate.”

 

Ziyal knew she should be able to process what that meant, but her mind didn’t seem to be working right. “What are you saying?”

 

J’ke took both of her hands in his and squeezed gently. “Lady Ziyal, we would be honored if you came back to Defiant Weyr with us to stand on the sands at the Hatching next week to try and Impress a dragon.”


	7. The 500 Kingdoms: Fortunate Fool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Fortunate Fool and a Godmother have tea and discuss the state of the world - or at least Arabia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fusion with The Five Hundred Kingdoms by Mercedes Lackey.
> 
> For those unfamiliar with the Fortunate Fool archetype, this is the seventh-born son (usually with six older brothers) who is considered by his family to be an idiot. They then mistreat him, but because he is considered a fool and beaten/unloved, the kingdom he's from is given good luck. He often goes out on an adventure and returns with an exotic bride to a family that learns to love him.

Prince Julian of Arabia strolled up to the cottage door and knocked cheerfully. A moment, and then it swung open. Ezri, the Lilac Fairy, Godmother to seven kingdoms including Julian’s homeland, propped her hands on her hips and glared at him. “ _You_ are late,” she said tartly.

 

Julian might have been worried if he hadn’t seen the sparkle of amusement in her eyes. Knowing it was directed at his motley clothing, he didn’t take any offense. The blindingly colorful clothing was his choice, after all, a clear sign that the seventh son of the king of Arabia was touched in the head.

 

Still, a bit of contriteness wouldn’t be amiss. “Sorry, Ezri,” he said meekly. “I ran into some trouble with a djinn.”

 

“Nothing too strenuous?” the Lilac Fairy asked, steel in her straightened spine.

 

“Nothing a bit of Fool’s Luck couldn’t handle,” Julian assured her.

 

“Then I suppose you had better come in,” she said, once again simply his friend Ezri. She stepped out of the way, gesturing him into the cottage.

 

Julian stepped in cheerfully, no longer surprised by the way it was so much bigger on the inside than on the outside. “How are your helpers?”

 

“Happy to be busy, I suspect,” Ezri said, leading him into the sitting room. A tray of tea and snacks waited on the small table between their usual two chairs. Julian waited for Ezri to sit before seating himself, and he watched attentively as she poured steaming tea into their cups. “I’m going to be adding Kohlstania to my kingdoms after all, which means a lot of visiting and such to cement that in the Tradition’s mind. Miles is grumbling about the extra work, but Keiko and the other two are over the moon delighted, so I imagine he’ll come around.”

 

“Or he could just be grumbling for show,” Julian pointed out. Of the brownies who assisted Ezri, he had had the most contact with Miles and was used to the little man’s need to complain about something. “So should I be congratulating you or sympathizing?”

 

“Definitely sympathizing,” Ezri said. “They haven’t had a Godmother in Kohlstania since Godmother Elena passed five hundred years ago, so a lot of their knowledge about how to respond to a Godmother has likely been lost, to say nothing of any education about the Tradition.”

 

“I’m sure you’ll manage,” Julian said reassuringly. “You always do.”

 

“Thanks, Julian,” Ezri smiled at him. “And thanks for coming all this way to see me. But are you sure you can afford to take the time away from Arabia?”

 

“Hm? Oh, well, if you’d invoke the All Paths Are One spell for my return then I’d appreciate it,” Julian hedged.

 

Ezri pinned him with a look. “Julian.”

 

He tried not to squirm, wondering what it was about the Godmother that sometimes made him feel like a little boy trying to get away with bringing some wild animal home as a pet. Not that he had done that. Often. As usual when she looked at him with that particular expression on her face, he folded like a wet napkin.

 

“I needed to get away for a while, Ezri,” Julian confessed. He took a sip of tea, tried to gather his thoughts. “When I’m at home, no matter where I am in Arabia, I’m the Fool. Even when I make my rounds among people who don’t know me, I’m the Fool, bringing luck to the land, but apart from the people living there.” He set his tea cup down, met her kind gray-purple eyes. “I can’t ever be anyone or anything but the Fortunate Fool back home, because the moment I stop playing that role is the moment my luck stops helping Arabia. I’m not that selfish. But when I come here to see you…”

 

“You can be whoever you want without worrying about being the Fool,” she finished.

 

Julian nodded once, sharply, and then looked down at his clenched hands. “I’m twenty-five now, Ezri. Twenty-five. I’ve spent a quarter of a century playing the Fool, letting my family be mean to me in public but kind only when in the deepest of privacy, separated from the people of my kingdom because kindness could ruin me, and I’m…so tired.”

 

One of her hands landed on his, a warm weight, and she squeezed. He looked up, flattered to see friendship and sympathy. “I’m here for you, Julian,” she promised. “And… maybe I can see my way to helping your story along, once things in Kohlstania settle down.”

 

“Helping my story along?” Julian frowned. Abruptly, remembering, he said, quickly, “No, Ezri, that’s all right, I really don’t need your help finding a wife, honest –”

 

“What else are friends for, Julian?” Ezri asked. Now that he knew to look for it, he could see the mischievous spark in her eyes. “Especially friends who happen to be godmothers. The Fortunate Fool always goes wandering and returns with an exotic mate who helps him bridge the gap between the Fool and his family. And there are several possible tales I can think of off the top of my head that are looking for a male lead.” She smirked at him over the rim of her tea cup.

 

Julian sank down into the arm chair with a groan, letting his head fall down between his hands. “Why are we friends again?” he groaned.

 

Ezri laughed. “Don’t worry, Julian. I’m busy for a while yet, so you’re safe for the time being.”

 

_For some reason, that doesn’t really reassure me._ Not that there was anything he could do about it. Ezri was a godmother, and they always did what they thought best. And, being fair to godmothers, they almost always managed happy endings for those who deserved them. But why did she have to meddle in _his_ life? He’d just wanted some sympathy and a place to relax for a little bit.

 

“Meddlesome must be in the job description when you go recruiting apprentices,” Julian grumbled.

 

Ezri burst out laughing and raised her tea cup in a mock salute. Julian shook his head, but smiled back at his closest friend. At least he would get to travel more if he let her attempt to match make for him.

 

_Always a bright side._


	8. Discworld: The Witch Trials

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keiko Ishikawa had high hopes for meeting other young witches at a minor gathering. She also had Granny Aching's warning that things might not work out whispering in her ear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A fusion with the Tiffany Aching/Witches subset of Discworld by Sir Terry Pratchett, may he rest in peace. Unfortunately, I do not have his gift for humor.

Keiko Ishikawa shifted uncomfortably as she watched the older witches talking with each, chattering away about spells and fads and people and places. She didn’t feel like she belonged here, not when her mentor was Granny Aching, who didn’t hold with spells or fads or gossiping away like this.

 

No, Granny Aching was a witch of the old school, trained by Esmerelda Weatherwax herself, the last student the legendary witch had taken on before her death, and, like Granny Weatherwax before her, she held with First Sight and Second Thoughts, headology and borrowing, and a healthy dose of common sense. As such, Keiko found the magic and fads discussed by most witches at these occasional gatherings to be incomprehensible and generally far outside her own experiences.

 

She turned away from the older generations of witches, the mothers and crones, and looked for the witches her age, the maidens and the apprentices. They clotted together, small clusters watching their mentors, talking and giggling with each other. The clumps bedecked in jangling jewelry held no interest for Keiko, nor did the ones that dissolved into giggles every few seconds, and there was no way she would try to join the groups with their noses stuck up in the air.

 

Unfortunately, as Keiko walked around the fairground the witches had taken over, she couldn’t find a single group of young witches she wanted to intrude on. It would be difficult to break into any of the clumps, but witches didn’t tend to be the shy and retiring type, and Keiko was no exception. She would have marched up to a group and introduced herself – if any of them had seemed worth the effort.

 

Shoulders slumped, Keiko meandered through the crowd, heading towards the tent where she had left her broom. If she left now, she would get home before dark. _Next time Granny Aching tells me something is a waste of time, I’ll listen to her_ , she vowed. Especially if Granny Aching then followed that declaration with _‘But of course you’ll have to learn that for yourself.’_ Keiko wasn’t so stubborn that she couldn’t see reason when a respected elder offered it up.

 

 _Not when there’s nothing at stake, at least,_ her Second Thoughts observed with a touch of acid. _You wanted to make friends with other witches, so you came all the way out here, so sure you knew better than Granny Aching._

 

 _But if you hadn’t come out, you wouldn’t have known for sure,_ her Third Thoughts argued. _And Granny Aching was right about this being a lesson you had to learn for yourself. After all, there’s a difference between knowing something with your head and knowing it with your heart._

 

“What are you thinking so hard about?”

 

Keiko yelped and jumped back, eyes wide, as she stared at a young man about her age. “Sorry,” he said, quickly, reaching out to steady her. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

 

“It’s fine,” Keiko said.

 

“What were you thinking so hard about?” he repeated, dark eyes alight with curiosity.

 

Keiko hesitated, but she _had_ come here looking for a friend. Even if she had thought that friend would be a fellow witch. “I was thinking about life lessons,” she said, “and my Second and Third Thoughts were arguing.”

 

“Oh, are you Granny Aching’s apprentice?” the boy asked, eyes lighting up. “I’ve read all of her treatises, and she’s always talking about Second and Third Thoughts.”

 

“Yes,” Keiko said proudly, and lifted her head straighter. “I’m Keiko Ishikawa.” She stuck out her hand to shake, and he took it in a firm grip, pumped it enthusiastically a few times, and then let go without a fuss. A good handshake indicated a good person, or at least a person Keiko could be friends with, or so she thought, so she smiled back at him.

 

“I’m Julian Bashir,” the boy said. “I’m not a witch – obviously, I mean, of course you knew that, I’m a boy, after all – but because my mother lives in the village nearby, I got pressed into helping out with the cleaning and such.”

 

Granny Aching didn’t think much of Madame Bashir and her new-fangled notions, but Keiko was smart enough to know that she shouldn’t say anything about _that_ to Madame Bashir’s son, especially not after he had expressed a respect for Granny Aching. So she asked, “Is that why you read witches’ writings? Because of your mother?”

 

“Oh, no, it’s because I find them fascinating,” Julian said. “Also, one day, I’m going to be a doctor, and witches know all sorts of cures that they don’t teach at the hospitals, and that’s provided I’m able to get an apprenticeship at one.”

 

Keiko’s eyes narrowed slightly as she considered him with a bit more wariness. It was no secret that Granny Aching’s husband was a medic. “What will you do if you can’t get an apprenticeship at one of the hospitals?” she asked.

 

“I’ll study the cures in the witches’ treatises I can get my hands on and start talking to the local medics and herbalists and apothecaries,” Julian said with a shrug. “I’ll learn what I can from them and be honest with patients. But I want more than anything to be a doctor and help people, and I’m going to do that one way or another.”

 

Seeing the honesty in his eyes, Keiko relaxed. _Well, since he didn’t approach me because of Mr. Aching, I’ll ask him about getting Julian an apprenticeship._ Keiko smiled at Julian and said, “Why don’t we go sit down over there and talk herbs?”

 

Julian’s eyes lit up. “That would be great.” A pause, and then, with a bit of suspicion, “This isn’t because you pity me, right?”

 

“Why would I pity you?” Keiko asked. “You have a dream and you’re working to make it real, just like I am. That’s something to be respected.”

 

Julian’s shoulders relaxed, the tension seeping out. “Sorry to jump down your throat. There’s a lot of people around here who think my interest in becoming a medic is my attempt to make up for being Madame Bashir’s _son_ instead of her daughter.”

 

Keiko nodded in sympathy. “I don’t pity you, Julian.”

 

“No,” Julian said, looking directly into her dark eyes, “I don’t think you do.” He smiled again, bright and wide, and Keiko found herself smiling back.

 

_Looks like I made a friend here, after all. I can’t wait to tell Granny Aching._


	9. Daughters of the Moon: Missing Sister

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is the night of the new moon and Ezri Tigan, Daughter of the Moon, is missing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on The Daughters of the Moon series by Lynne Ewing.
> 
> In case it's not clear in the chapter, the girls are spiritually daughters of the moon goddess Selene, who has granted them each their own power in order to face the evil Atrox.

Jadzia Idaris stretched out on the couch and stared out the window at the setting sun. There would be no moon tonight, and so the smartest thing she and her sister goddesses could do was stay inside. They couldn’t, of course – the new moon was when the Atrox’s Followers were strongest and so its followers would be out and about causing trouble. And it was the job of the Daughters of the Moon to keep people safe from the Atrox and its evil minions.

 

Noise on the stairs. She turned, smiled at Kira Nerys, her fellow goddess. Nerys didn’t smile back, and Jadzia sat up, alarm thrumming through her. “What’s wrong?”

 

“I can’t reach Ezri,” Nerys said grimly, mouth pressed in a tight line.

 

 _Shit._ “Where’s Keiko?”

 

“On her way.”

 

All right then. “I guess we’re putting on our battle make up, then,” Jadzia said, much more mildly than she felt. She swung her legs off the couch and stood up, stretched. “Good thing we all keep outfits and paint at everyone’s home.” She headed up the stairs towards Nerys’s room and some spare clothing.

 

Ezri had probably gotten caught up by some of the Atrox’s Followers. It would be a hassle to find her, but they would. And then they would make the Followers pay for taking her. Jadzia shed her day clothes and pulled on the tighter-fitting, glittery clothes that wouldn’t look out of place in the clubs the Followers frequented. She had just finished pinning her hair up when Nerys and Keiko entered the bathroom, both of them clad in similar clothing.

 

The three girls helped each other brush silver glitter and make up across eyelids, cheeks, and other exposed skin. Their battle make up, meant to mimic moonbeams. They would need it tonight, Jadzia reflected. Nervously, she readjusted the fall of her moon amulet, watching in the mirror as it moved back and forth, up and down, against her skin in time with her nervous fidgeting.

 

“Should we call Ziyal?” Keiko asked suddenly.

 

“No,” Jadzia said immediately. Their mentor had been acting strange, lately, often growing distracted and breaking off in the middle of a sentence to stare off into the distance. “It’s best not to bother her unless we have to, these days,” she said.

 

Keiko frowned uncertainly but Nerys nodded in agreement. “She’s been different since we killed Dukat,” Nerys pointed out. “I don’t think we should call her just to tell her Ezri’s missing when we know we’ll get her back, one way or the other, before the end of the night.” Nerys cracked her knuckles pointedly, and Keiko nodded.

 

She still looked unhappy, Jadzia noted, but at least she wouldn’t be fighting them on that front. Which didn’t mean Jadzia wasn’t about to have a fight on her hands. “I think we should go ask Worf for information,” she said.

 

“No,” Nerys snapped.

 

“I know you trust him, Jadzia, but he’s still a Follower,” Keiko said.

 

“And not just any Follower,” Nerys said angrily. “He’s a member of the Inner Circle now, the Prince of Night, the official successor to the Atrox. We can’t trust him!”

 

“He’s called the Regulators off me,” Jadzia reminded the other two. “They haven’t bothered me at all since Worf ascended, and you know there are times when we wouldn’t have been able to stop the Followers without his help.”

 

“That was before he chose to go back to the Atrox,” Keiko pointed out. “I know that he’s helped _you_ out since becoming the Prince of Night, but that’s because he still loves you somehow, despite the Atrox’s influence. We can’t be sure that will transfer to helping the rest of us, especially if Ezri’s been captured, not just been trapped somewhere.”

 

“Then what do you propose we do?” Jadzia asked, crossing her arms over her chest. “Walk into a club, find a Follower or two, and beat them up until they tell us what’s happened to Ezri? If they didn’t actually do anything to her and this is like that trouble with that demon, we’ll just alert them all to our problems. It would be a lot smarter for me to go discreetly ask Worf if they had anything to do with Ezri’s disappearance.”

 

Nerys opened her mouth to argue, but Keiko stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. They exchanged a look, and then Keiko looked at Jadzia. “You’re going to go ask Worf no matter what we say, aren’t you?”

 

Jadzia blinked. “I… well, yes,” she admitted, a bit taken aback at how easily Keiko had guessed.

 

“Don’t look so surprised, Jadzia,” Nerys said with a snort. “You always do what you think is right, regardless of what the rest of us say.” She ran a hand through her short auburn hair and sighed. “Fine. Go ask Worf. But Keiko and I are going to be nearby so that we can get in and help you if something goes wrong.”

 

Jadzia smiled. “Deal.” Not that she thought Worf would double cross her or let anything happen to her, not after everything he had already done to keep her safe, but if it would keep peace with her goddess sisters, then she was all for it. Remembering Ezri, her expression hardened. “Let’s go find our sister.”


	10. Six of Crows: The Heist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Niners might be only one gang out of fifty in Ketterdam, but after this heist, they'll be the only one worth knowing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fusion with Six of Crows by Leigh Bardugo.  
> A day later than intended; apologies, RL called.

Vic’s wasn’t the flashiest place in Ketterdam, but it was one of the classier establishments, for all that it was in the Barrel rather than closer to Geldstraat and the other places patronized by merchants. It was also infamous, among the gangs in the Barrel, for being the gathering place for the higher ups in the Deep Space Niners, one of the five richest gangs who ran the streets of Ketterdam.

 

Right at that moment, Benjamin Sisko, the gang’s general, and three of his four lieutenants sat in one of the back rooms. “All right, Kira, what did Dukat want today?” Ben asked. The merchant was obnoxious and both Ben and Kira hated dealing with him, but the merchant would only deal with the two of them and his information had been helpful often enough that Ben wasn’t quite ready to completely cut ties with the powerful councilman.

 

“He said there’s a powerful fabrikator out of Shu who’s created a powder that changes the way the Grisha see the world, that makes them experience things in such a way that their powers become greatly amplified. It’s also highly addictive, needing only one taste to make a Grisha dependent on it. If his pet Squaller is any indication, it also uses the Grisha up, takes whatever they are and wrings them dry,” Kira said. She paused, eyes distant, and shook her head in something that Ben realized with a hint of alarm was sympathy. Kira didn’t have sympathy for anyone outside the Barrel, and even in the Barrel her sympathy was confined to the people she considered hers in some way.

 

“Wrings them dry?” Jadzia Dax asked with a frown. Ben looked over at the other lieutenant with a questioning glance and she grimaced. “I didn’t want to bring it to your attention without something more than rumors, Ben, but it seems like a Grisha Healer washed up on shore a few weeks back, barely more than skin and bones, as if something had, ah, ‘wrung her dry’ from the inside out. And that’s without going into what drowning did to her body.”

 

Ben nodded thoughtfully. So, the drug had spread enough to come to Ketterdam, or close enough that someone thought they could find it here. “Why exactly did Dukat bring this drug to our attention?” he asked Kira.

 

“Because this fabrikator supposedly made a deal with the council to come here for sanctuary, with the stipulation that they wouldn’t ask him to make more of the drug,” Kira said, “only the Fjerdans got to him first, kidnapped him back to the Ice Court. Presumably, they’ll have some kind of trial and kill him, considering their opinions of Grisha.” Kira shrugged. “Dukat offered us thirty million _kruges_ if we’ll rescue the fabrikator – or at least confirm that they’ve killed him and the secret of his drug with him.”

 

“Infiltrate _the Ice Court_?” Miles O’Brien managed to gasp out. “Is Dukat _insane_? What in the name of all the saints makes him think we’re stupid enough to try anything _there_?” He paused abruptly, and turned to Ben. “General, no. Tell me we’re not that stupid, please,” he begged.

 

Ben smiled gently at the man called the Chief and shook his head. He turned back to Kira. “I trust you told him we’d do it?”

 

“I did,” Kira agreed with a wry smile. “Thought it would prick your pride if not your pocketbook.”

 

Ben nodded, and his smile hardened. “There’s nothing the Niners can’t do. And that includes stealing from the Fjerdan’s Ice Court. Dax,” he looked at Jadzia, “pick your crew. Anyone you want, as many as you want. Just get me that fabrikator.”

 

Jadzia grinned. “ _Anyone_ I want, Ben?”

 

Ben laughed and shook a chiding finger at her. “Not anyone in this room, Old Man,” he warned. “But other than that, yes, you have a free head-hunting license, but if you want these two to still like you in the morning, you’ll be careful with your poaching.”

 

Jadzia turned a winsome smile on Kira and the Chief.

 

“I suppose that means you’ll be wanting Odo, then,” Kira grumbled.

 

“He is the best infiltrator we know,” Jadzia agreed, “and I’m going to need the best of the best to do this. A small crew, I think. Six in total, and that’s counting me, plus a boat crew to get us to Fjerda in the first place.” She drummed her fingers against the table, hummed thoughtfully. “Odo and me, definitely. For the rest… Rom’s the best at demo since you won’t let me take the Chief,” she winked at O’Brien, “although I’ll leave you Leeta, Ben.”

 

“Since I can’t imagine what you’d want with a card-counter, and considering your fingers are lighter than hers, I appreciate your restraint,” Ben said dryly. “That’s still only half your crew.”

 

“Umm,” Jadzia agreed, frowning in thought. “Worf’s too distinctive, but would you be willing to let me have Shakaar?”

 

“Shakaar?” Kira said, eyebrows rising. “If you’re looking for an enforcer, wouldn’t Eddington be a better choice?”

 

Jadzia glanced at Ben, the look on her face expressing what she thought of him playing that one close to his vest, and he shook his head at her, a silent command to keep silent. She rolled her eyes, turned back to Kira. “Shakaar’s better at operating on a shoestring budget, and that’s what we’re going to have to deal with in the Ice Court. Besides, he’s got more luck.”

 

“Fair enough,” Kira said, “but that’s gonna leave me with some major holes in my patrol schedules.”

 

“Handle it,” Ben ordered before the two lieutenants could start arguing. Kira turned to glare at him, but he reminded her, “Whoever she needs, Kira. Jadzia’s the one dancing on knife tips without a safety net.”

 

Kira snorted, but her face relaxed into something that was almost a smile. “Better you than me,” she told the other woman.

 

“Oh, come on, it’ll be fun,” Jadzia grinned. “And something to brag about if we all survive.”

 

“Only if you’re nowhere near a Fjerdan,” O’Brien grumbled. “And you’re still missing a third of your crew.”

 

“Well,” Jadzia said slowly, “I know who I want, but Ben might put a kibosh on them.”

 

“I might, might I?” Ben asked. “Sitting on it like a hen on her egg isn’t going to make me like it anymore when you finally come out with it, Old Man, so you might as well get on with it.”

 

Jadzia took a breath, flattened her hands against the table, and squared her shoulders. The warning signs that she was settling down for a fight. Ben braced himself. “I want Julian,” she said.

 

“Not a chance,” Kira snapped.

 

“Okay, now I _know_ you’re insane,” O’Brien said, and there was a spark of real anger in his eyes.

 

A moment of confusion before Ben remembered then that the Chief and Bashir had been growing friendly over the year Bashir had been in Ketterdam. _Tread carefully, Old Man._ But he leaned back in his chair and let Jadzia fight her own battle. After all, he, too, was curious why Jadzia wanted to take a Grisha into a country that killed every Grisha they could get their hands on.

 

“I need a Grisha,” Jadzia said evenly. “Specifically, I need one of the Corporalniks, and Julian’s the best we have on our payroll, plus he's trained in both Corporalnik specialties. Anyone else we’d have to bring in, do background checks on, and never be sure we could trust them. But Julian I trust.”

 

“And why the hell do you think he’ll be willing to go into Fjerda?” O’Brien demanded, arms crossed across his chest. “I like to think he’s not suicidal, no matter what you apparently think.”

 

Jadzia took in a breath, let it out slowly. “Because if we live through this, I’ll tell him his debt is forgiven and offer him transport to Ravka, should he want it.”

 

O’Brien looked stricken. Ben, however, nodded at Jadzia when she finally glanced at him. “Done. But, Jadzia, if he doesn’t want to leave Ketterdam, tell him he can join officially,” Ben said.

 

Jadzia blinked. “I’m not sure he wants that, Ben,” she said at last. “He doesn’t mind the healing aspect, but he’s never really been comfortable working with a gang, no matter how much he’s come to like us personally.”

 

“I’m aware,” Ben said blandly, his very lack of harshness a reprimand, a reminder that he knew his people. “But the offer should be made, so he knows what he has to gain.” Jadzia nodded, and Ben smiled thinly. “Now, Dax, don’t think I haven’t noticed that you haven’t told us the final member of your crew.”

 

She grinned, a wry twist of her lips. “You caught me. I knew Nerys and the Chief would object to me taking Julian, but I think _you’re_ going to protest the last person I want.”

 

Ben winced. “Hit me,” he said. This wasn’t going to go well at all.

 

“I want someone who’s in Hellsgate Prison,” Jadzia said.

 

“That’s going to be fun getting the poor bastard out of there,” O’Brien muttered.

 

Ben shot him a sharp look and he subsided. He turned the same look on Jadzia, but she had always been more impervious to his temper than everyone else save only Jennifer and Ben. She gathered herself, looked directly into his eyes, and said, “The final member of my crew is Elim Garak.”


	11. Mercy Thompson: Hello, Neighbor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After being raised by the Marrok, the alpha of alpha werewolves, Julian thought he understood werewolves. Unfortunately, everything he thought he knew seems to have absolutely no bearing on the actions of his alpha werewolf neighbor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fusion with Patricia Briggs's Mercy Thompson/Alpha & Omega series.
> 
> Sorry about the delay, this has just been a bad week.

The pounding on his door woke Julian four hours after he’d stumbled home from the hospital. He crawled out of bed and stumbled his way through the double-wide trailer over to the front door and pulled it open. “Murfl?” he asked, blinking at the figure standing on his porch, silhouetted by the sun.

 

“Your cat, Mr. Bashir,” the friendly local alpha said with a smile that showed off every one of his perfect white teeth.

 

Julian squinted against the glare and held out his arms, accepting the deposited cat despite Chester’s best efforts to scratch his way back to the werewolf. Most cats hated werewolves, but Chester loved anyone who was willing to rub his belly. So his efforts to get back to the werewolf told Julian a lot more about Elim Garak’s position on the cat in question than the passive aggressive notes that sometimes got left on Julian’s doorstep threatening Chester’s life if he should happen to make his way onto Garak’s land again.

 

“Urngle,” he said to the cat, as scolding as he could manage at eight in the morning after a night shift. Garak shifted his weight ever so slightly, drawing Julian’s attention back to the alpha. The man’s face was still set in that polite smile that was a thin veneer over the savagery underneath his skin. “Um. Thanks. For still not killing him.” _Complete sentences, Julian. Just because the Marrok told him not to kill the coyote on his territory doesn’t mean he likes you, so use what you’ve learned about the man – werewolf – and don’t get eaten._

 

Garak’s smile widened slightly, turned more predatory. Julian’s brain tried to wake him up to something, but he just wasn’t running on enough sleep. “You will simply have to owe me for my restraint, my dear,” he purred.

 

“Oh. All right?” _Wake up wake up wake up._ He felt like he was missing something, but what? Something important, just out of his grasp…

 

“I believe you have tomorrow night off,” Garak said, faux-thoughtfully.

 

“Uh, yes?” Julian wracked his brain. He thought that was right. _I’ll check it later, I guess. Although, why is he asking about it?_

 

“Excellent,” Garak smiled, and Julian felt like a mouse that had just gotten caught in a trap. Which was ridiculous. He was a coyote who ate mice. Sometimes. When he was in his coyote form and starving. Not normally. _Ugh, I need sleep. Wait, what’s he saying?_ “– pick you up at seven. Sound good, my dear?”

 

“Um.” Julian hesitated, then reminded himself that he was facing a werewolf. They could smell lies as easily as he could. So, truthfully, he said, “I didn’t hear most of that, sorry.” At Garak’s raised eyebrow, his shoulders hunched defensively. “It’s early and I had a late night at the hospital.” Not an apology, just an explanation. He didn’t have to apologize to werewolves anymore. Except the Marrok, but that was different. _Everyone_ did what the Marrok wanted.

 

Garak apparently decided to take pity on him. “In return for my restraint in not killing your cat despite his continued intrusions into my territory, you can accompany me to dinner tomorrow evening, at Vic’s. I will pick you up at seven.”

 

“Oh. Ah. Sure?” Julian said. He thought Garak had originally asked him if that was all right, but now it sounded more like an order.

 

“Excellent. Until tomorrow evening, my dear,” Garak said with another beaming smile. “Oh, and keep your cat off my property.”

 

Julian watched him leave and then listened to his footsteps continue across the grass and over the fence that marked the boundary between Garak’s yard and Julian’s. Only once he could no longer hear Garak’s heartbeat or footsteps did he look down at Chester. “Do you understand what just happened?”

 

Chester looked up at him and yawned in his face.

 

“That’s what I thought,” Julian grumbled. “I really hope this makes more sense after a couple mugs of coffee.”


	12. The Lunar Chronicles: The Revolution Must Go On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tora Ziyal, mechanic, just wanted to live her life. But now she's on the run from the Queen of Luna and everyone in the Earthen Union. And somehow she's even picked up a rag-tag group of companions. Sounds like a perfect mix for a revolution.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fusion with The Lunar Chronicles by Marissa Meyer.

Tora Ziyal brushed dark hair out of her face with her cyborg hand and tried to tune out the arguing coming from behind her. It was clear that the necessity that had been holding their band together this far was starting to fray around the edges, and she knew that was her fault. Her wishy-washiness was dragging out a decision that someone more decisive would have made three months ago, when she first learned who she really was.

 

Princess Selene, rightful heir to the Lunar throne.

 

The words still scared her. What they meant, what they represented, the future that had suddenly opened up before her when those words were applied to her.

 

She had wanted something different. “Be careful what you wish for,” Ziyal muttered.

 

“Ziyal? Is everything all right?”

 

Ziyal smiled at the _rampion-_ class spaceship and patted its side. “Everything’s fine, Ezri.” She paused a moment, and then a thought occurred to her. “Are you holding up all right?”

 

“Sure, I’m good. For now. Don’t think I’ve forgotten your promise to find me an escort droid body,” the household-droid-turned-spaceship said, but the hint of humor in Ezri’s computerized voice reassured Ziyal that she and her oldest friend were still good. “Right now, though, I think you’re about to have a bigger problem.”

 

“What do you mean?” Ziyal asked, but then she registered the raised voices headed her way. She sighed, ran a hand along the back of her brow, and turned to face the people who had become her friends. And the people who were just along for the ride.

 

“Ziyal, we can’t stay here for much longer,” Kira Nerys said. The tough-talking redhead had her rifle slung over her back, and her eyes kept darting away to scan the horizon. “They’re still looking for you and ‘Captain’ Bashir here, and we all know that those Lunar soldiers could strike again.”

 

“We need more fuel before we do too much else,” Julian Bashir said just as firmly. “Even before we have a destination in mind, we need to make sure we’ll be able to reach it. And I can tell you right now that we definitely don’t have enough fuel to reach Luna.”

 

“We’re not going to Luna yet, because the princess isn’t yet ready to face the Thaumaterges, let alone the queen,” Elim Garak said silkily, and Ziyal watched both Nerys and Miles freeze up. She sympathized, as Garak occasionally gave her the creeps, too, but letting him know that just seemed to amuse and encourage him.

 

“We still need to move,” Nerys snapped, her hand resting near the knife at her hip.

 

“Agreed,” Ziyal said, cutting in, trying desperately to keep peace amongst the disparate group she’d somehow managed to gather about herself, “but it does us no good to rush about with no idea of where to go.”

 

“Surely you have some idea of a location in mind?” Garak drawled. “Unless you mean to tell me you were foolish enough to start this adventure with absolutely no allies, in which case you have even less of a chance at revolution than I’ve been giving you.”

 

“Garak, do you remember that discussion we had about helpful comments and not helpful comments?” Julian asked. “Because that falls under the second category.”

 

“As much as I hate to interrupt this absolutely fascinating argument,” Ezri said, “I think you should all come back in here and see this newsfeed.”

 

There was some exchange of confused looks but all five of them trooped back onto the ship. Ziyal debated the merits of bringing the newsfeed up on her eyes, but she wasn’t completely sure she could find the specific one Ezri wanted to show them. Besides, it wouldn’t save that much time.

 

Ezri already had the feed up and running by the time the five organics – well, four-and-a-half organics – made it into the ship’s bay. And the byline at the bottom of the screen chilled Ziyal’s heart. _African Union Emperor to Announce Betrothal._ Who could he possibly be marrying? _Not the queen. Please, please, please, no matter who else it might be, don’t let it be Queen Adami._

 

On the newsfeed, Emperor Jakob Sisko stepped up to a podium, shuffled his papers, and looked out at the reporters and cameras. “Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. I have a brief announcement to make and then I will take a few minutes of questions, but I’m afraid I don’t have a lot of time today.” He stopped, cleared his throat, looked down at his notes, and then, finally, looked back up.

 

“I’m here today, ladies and gentlemen, to announce that in one week’s time I will be marrying Queen Adami of Luna.” The audience erupted. Jake – Emperor Jakob, Ziyal reminded herself viciously – waited them out, refusing to respond to the shouted questions. When the noise finally died down, he continued, “She will be named Empress of the African Union and I will be named King Consort of Luna.” A flash of emotion on his face, there and gone. Ziyal wondered if it had to do with the different titles each of them would be taking on. “I have time for a few questions now.”

 

“Emperor, why have you decided to marry Queen Adami?” a man in the first row demanded as soon as he was recognized, clear belligerence on his features. “Is this part of a blackmail attempt by Luna, connected to the attacks of those beast-men two days ago?”

 

“No, this is completely by my choice,” Jake lied. Ziyal’s heart sank. Even after she had warned him, he hadn’t been able to escape the trap Adami had laid for him. “Anything else? No? Then, ladies and gentlemen, if you’ll excuse me, I have a lot of preparation to do before my wedding. Thank you for your time,” he said, all but fleeing the reporters and cameras.

 

Ezri cut the feed and asked, a bit plaintively, “Now what do we do?”

 

“Isn’t it obvious?” Julian asked. “We stop the wedding, of course. Although… I suspect saying it is quite a bit easier than doing it.” Ziyal felt a rush of affection over her friend’s immediate jump to the plan he knew she would embrace.

 

“We can’t stop the wedding!” Nerys snapped. “We don’t have enough time to put a plan together, we don’t have enough time for Prin – for Ziyal to train, and we certainly don’t stand a chance against all the Lunars who will be there!”

 

“I think we have to,” Miles said slowly. Ziyal turned to look at the hacker, stunned to hear that from him of all people, especially after how eager he’d been to get away from the Lunars when they’d pulled him off that satellite. Immediately, she felt ashamed of her snap judgment of the man. “Queen Adami wants the Earthen Union more than anything, and becoming empress of the African Union can only help her with that. So I think we need to spike her wheel, so to speak, before she becomes too powerful to fight.”

 

Garak made a face and said, “I can’t believe I’m agreeing with those two, but I do. Not that I think we’ll succeed, but we probably at least have to attempt it.”

 

Well, with that kind of ringing endorsement. Ziyal looked around at her friends and nodded. “Let’s do this,” she said.

**Author's Note:**

> And that's the end of this one. Part two, manga/anime, will be up after a week-long break.


End file.
